Brawl

by Kylie Hillman

  “Steve’s good people. If he says leave her be, then he has a good reason.”

  Nate nods his agreement with my proclamation before hitting me with a green-eyed gaze that’s almost identical to the one that looks back at me anytime I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror. “He’s hooked me up with night shifts so me and Gabbi’ll be working together all the time.”

  Jep, who’d been silent since Gabbi stormed out, bursts into laughter. I’m lost in my head, marveling at the way her name glides through my nerve cells in my brain, feeling like it belongs there. It’s on the tip of my tongue, requiring only an appropriate opening so I can see how it tastes in my mouth.

  “You’re fucked, Nate,” he continues, laughing so hard that he’s snorting between words. “Now I know why you let her put you on your back earlier. Game playing pussy.”

  “What?” I question. “How did Gabbi put you on your fucking back?”

  And there it is...her name leaving my mouth. The two syllables taste sweet and sassy. Just like the owner of the title.

  “Shut up, asshole.” Nate nudges Jep. A ruddy red blush is making its way up his neck. His hands have closed into fists; he’s ignoring my question with studious intent.

  “Tell me, Nate. How did a girl who’s lucky to be five and a half feet put you, a fifth-degree black belt, on your bloody back?” I try again to get some answers from my suddenly mute nephew.

  “He let her, Hooligan,” Jep throws his best mate under the bus. “When he grabbed her ass, she flipped over his shoulder and then took him down with a leg sweep. I couldn’t work it out at the time, but now I know why he let her. He’s tryin’ to get in her pants by letting her thinks she’s a badass.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stands up when I think about his hands on her curvy ass. It’s wrong—I know it is—yet I wanna smack him in the head for touching her.

  “Hey, the first time was all her. I didn’t see that one coming,” Nate defends himself. His lips press together in a tight line and he stares at the ground when he realizes he’s put his foot in it.

  “First time?” I ask as I stalk toward him. He’s smart. He backs up immediately, only coming to a stop when he runs out of room. With his back against the cold wall of the basement, he has nowhere to go. “Are you telling me that Gabbi put you on your back twice?”

  He gulps, shame making his already red face darken another shade.

  “Why?”

  I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m not going to like this answer any better than the first one.

  “Because I felt her up and she didn’t like it.”

  “You mean you touched her without her permission?”

  Nate refuses to reply, staring into space over my shoulder. His muteness tells me more than words could.

  Closing my eyes for a nanosecond in an effort to find some much-needed composure, my mind flips in twenty different directions in that time. Lifting my eyelids, my top lip curls and my fists close around a handful of his T-shirt before I comprehend what I’m doing. Pulling him close to me, I spit on him, before pushing him against the wall.

  Turning my back on him, I snarl over my shoulder as I stride for the nearest exit. “Get the fuck away from me. I can’t look at you tonight. You’re not staying at mine so go the fuck home.”

  Scorching fury burns its way through my veins and my head pounds, a singeing, white-hot pain throbbing in my temples. Of all the things he could have done to that girl. Of all the things he could have done to piss her off enough to break the Jiu-Jitsu code of honor that stipulates she can use her skills for self-defense only...he chooses to touch her without her permission. Even knowing my past and how I’d feel if I found out about it.

  I’ve gotta get out of here before I hurt him.

  ***

  “That’s it,” I groan as I throw my head back against the wet tiles of my shower.

  My hand glides up and down my shaft. Slowly to begin with, then gaining pace. I squeeze the head with each up stroke—enough to elicit the bite of pain I’ve needed to find my release since Mari’s been gone.

  Don’t think about Mari. Fuck. The tightening in my balls and the pulsing pleasure that was building begins to dull. I’m losing it, like so many other times before.

  An erect, dark pink nipple that’s barely visible through a sheer black bra pops into my mind’s eye. Two wide amber eyes follow, and before long Gabbi’s pretty face fills my vision. My erection returns to full mast and my scrotum draws up tightly underneath it.

  Keeping my eyes closed, and praying that the image in my head doesn’t dim, I stroke myself with frantic need. The guilt tries to take hold again but this time it can’t get a foothold. My desire for Gabbi is too strong.

  As my pace nears that perfect speed, the one I know will send me over the edge, her entire form takes shape in front of me. Huge, perky tits, a flat stomach with a jeweled piercing dangling from the bellybutton, and strong, defined thighs that are covered in bright tattoos make up the delectable little package that’s currently playing a starring role in tonight’s wank bank. In my head, I’ve bent her over and slid my cock between the round ass cheeks that have taunted me since they first came to my attention tonight. Fisting my cock harder, and imagining that it’s the tight walls of her cunt clenching me, I propel myself toward my release.

  “Fuck yeah,” I growl as my cum shoots free and lands on the hand that’s still pumping with furious intensity. “Take it all, Gabbi.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Gabbi

  “Shit,” I sit bolt upright in the bed, momentarily blinded by the dark of the room and unsure what the hell’s just woken me up. Heart pounding, I feel around for Cooper. When my hand finds his arm, the panic that’s causing my pulse to spike dies down.

  “Is that Cathy?” my little brother murmurs in a sleepy voice, rolling toward me. “Why’s she so noisy?”

  “Shhhh, don’t worry about it, bucko.” Rubbing his tummy, I wait until his breath evens out before I slide to the end of the mattress and feel my way to his bedroom door.

  It’s kind of embarrassing; my need to sleep in Cooper’s bed sometimes. I don’t do it all the time, only when he has a nightmare or I’m feeling particularly vulnerable.

  Like tonight, after my run-in with Hooligan.

  “Jesus Christ,” I curse as quietly as I can when I trip over our mother’s high heel in the darkened hallway. It jolts my sore back; a stark reminder of the already shitty night I’ve had. Picking up both shoes, I make my way toward the sound of my mother giggling and the mumbled voices I can hear coming from the brightly lit kitchen.

  What greets my eyes is going to be forever burned in my mind. My mother—the woman who gave birth to me and was an okay parent until three years ago—is bent over the breakfast island getting fucked from behind by a balding old guy with a flabby gut that swings with each thrust, his brown slacks hanging down around his knees. She’s giggling like an idiot, the chortling sound not covering the smacking of flesh against flesh in a pathetic mockery of a sexual tempo.

  I can handle the sex. Hell, this isn’t the first time I’ve walked in on this. The thing that sends my body into spasms of rage, making my eyes bulge in my head and my hands fist at my sides, is the other guy. He’s at the sink, using one of the silver spoons that makes up the set my parents were gifted for their wedding, to heat up some type of drug by holding a lit lighter to the bottom of it.

  “Get the fuck out of here,” I scream. The words haven’t even left my mouth before I’ve pelted the guy with his dick in my mother in the back of the head with one of her shoes. He pulls his pants up to cover his ass and ducks for cover around the corner of the kitchen, disappearing from my sight. The second guy drops the spoon and lighter into the sink, his mouth dropping open before he recovers and smirks. Lascivious gaze roaming over my body, he puts his hands on his hips and cocks one to the side. I’m wearing a pair of summer pajama’s so the old perve’s being treated to less skin than I was showing in the club earlier
tonight.

  “Well look what we have here. I enjoy fucking the emo outta little punk bitches.”

  Hitting him with a look that promises his death, I then fix the hatred in my expression on my mother. She hasn’t made a move to cover herself, instead she’s staring at me as she rests naked from the waist down, over the bench her eight-year-old sits at most mornings to eat his cereal. The deep-seated loathing I find looking back at me makes her beautiful face appear ugly.

  “Johnny, I doubt my daughter could show you as good a time as I can.”

  The bitch wiggles her ass in his direction which makes him laugh. He dry-fucks the air in response. “Like this, Cathy?”

  I thought I was mad before but that had nothing on the savage ferocity that explodes in me when she laughs at his response. How can she think this is funny? The small semblance of control that I’ve managed to keep hold of snaps. The remaining heel leaves my hand as if it contains a homing beacon and my mother’s face is its home base. The shoe hits the whore in the nose, making her squeal and slide to the floor holding her face. I launch myself at her companion, driving my fist into his nose, which knocks him to the floor.

  “What the fuck?” his exclamation is muffled by the hand he’s using to cradle his nose. “Stupid bitch.”

  Leaning over him where he lies on the white tiled floor, I point down at him. “I’m a stupid bitch? You’ve got to be kidding me?”

  Condescension drips from each word. I close the distance between Mom and I, grabbing her by the top of her arm and forcing her to stand. Not a sound leaves her, even when I squeeze her upper arm. “She has three kids in this house. One of them is only eight. Like, have some fucking respect, you douche.”

  “Come on, Johnny. Let’s get out of here.” The old man I hit with the first high heel peers from around the corner. Goddamn coward is too scared to show himself. It takes a second, but I realize why when I look at him again. He’s the father of one of Zali’s girlfriends. A married father with a really nice wife and four kids. Mom’s managed to hit an all-time low tonight. Before I can let him know that I’ve worked out who he is, he speaks again. “I’m going, with or without you.”

  I hear him make his way down the hall to the front door. The door slams shut behind him and I hold my breath waiting for Cooper to yell out because the noise has woken him up. When he doesn’t, I look back at the dickhead on the floor. Lifting an eyebrow, I wait to see what he’s going to do.

  “Cathy, call me. I can’t deal with this shit tonight.” He scoots on his ass along the floor until he’s out of my reach. Clambering to his feet, he follows after the other man. Banging echoes through the house again when the front door closes behind him.

  “You disgust me,” I snarl at Mom as I let go of her and put some distance between us. “I wish you would—”

  “GABBI!” Cooper yells from his bedroom.

  Shaking my head at the half naked woman in front of me, I reply to my scared sounding little brother. “I’ll be right there, bucko.”

  “Gabbi, I’m scared...” he calls again. He sounds like he’s seconds away from coming out here to get me. Urgency settles in the pit of my stomach and I attempt to get rid of Mom before he sees her like this.

  “Go and sleep it off,” I sneer at my still silent mother. My heated gaze tries to catch her eyes but I can’t. She’s looking at the floor, the wall, anywhere but me. “I’m not sure if you smell more like a fucking brewery or a brothel.”

  Mom grabs her clothes and walks away without a word. The shaking that’s rocked my body since I walked in on them, begins to subside after she’s exited the room. I was geared up for an argument with her—that’s what normally happens after I send her “gentleman friends” packing—so I’m surprised to see her leaving without so much as an insult thrown my way.

  “Ga...bbi,” Cooper yells for me again. Shuffling sounds sound down the hallway and I know he’s on his way to me.

  Speedily throwing the burnt spoon and the baggie of drugs into the trashcan under the sink on my way past, I take a quick survey of the kitchen. Nothing else seems out of place; I can’t find any incriminating signs of what happened in here. Breathing a deep sigh of relief, I intercept my little brother just before he turns into the kitchen.

  With my hands under his underarms, I lift him into the air and settle him on my right hip.

  “Was that Cathy?” he enquires in a weary tone.

  “Yeah, it was. But don’t worry, she’s gone to bed now.”

  “I wish you were my mom,” he rubs his eyes as he speaks. Swallowing the lump that’s taken up residence in my throat, I kiss his forehead.

  “Me too, bucko. Me too.”

  ***

  “I want all the deets. Glorious, glorious details,” Amy takes a sip of her coffee and hits me with inquisitive gaze. “Was the sex hot? Is he hung? I bet you he’s hung.”

  Tiredness lingers within me. I couldn’t get back to sleep after Cooper and I went back to bed so Amy’s exuberance is the last thing I need. Unfortunately, there was no escaping her after she turned up on our doorstep just after nine this morning declaring that Cooper and her son, Max, needed a playdate today. Rolling my eyes at her transparent excuse, I let them in before making coffee for the pair of us.

  “Nothing happened,” I shrug. “Nate’s okay, but I’m not sleeping with him.”

  Clapping her hands together, she throws her head back and laughs. I wait her out, knowing that she’s going to have something to say about my lack of action last night.

  “Nate’s more than okay. He’s divine. Please tell me, you at least fucked the hottie with the eyebrow ring?”

  Shaking my head, I grin at the annoyance that covers her pretty face. “Nope. I didn’t fuck anyone last night.”

  “There’s a story. I can tell.” Amy picks up her mug again and stares at me over the rim. Understanding washes over her face after a moment. “The ice queen met someone?”

  I ignore her, focusing my attention on draining every drop of coffee from my cup. Standing, I move to the sink and rinse it before stashing it in the dishwasher.

  “You did!”

  She comes to stand next to me. “Tell me what happened. Did he not meet your standards? Does he have a girlfriend?”

  Leaning back against the counter, I grimace. The last thing I want to do is rehash what happened with Hooligan last night, however, Amy might just be the person I need to talk to. Zali’s no help, and it’s not like I have an enormous group of girlfriends to draw on.

  “I don’t know if he has a girlfriend. All I know is, I didn’t meet his standards.”

  “The man’s an idiot then,” she declares, raising her hands in the air. “Plenty more fish in the sea.”

  Moving back to the dining table, I wait for her to sit down again as well. Once she’s comfortable, I fill her in on the initial rush that overcame me when I saw Hooligan and the connection that I thought I saw in his eyes until he dismissed me like I’m trash.

  “The way he looked at me made me feel dirty. I’ve never been ashamed of how many men I’ve slept with before or the way I dress but he made me feel like a slut with one look.”

  “Sweetheart, you’ve slept with, what? Ten, eleven men?”

  “Nine.” I correct her, then smirk as I correct myself. “And two chicks. So yeah, eleven.”

  “The chicks don’t count. That’s not sex, that’s experimentation.” Amy laughs before continuing soberly. “Honestly, that’s fuck all in the scheme of things. So, who cares what some guy thinks?”

  “I do,” I bite down on my bottom lip, the same feelings that gathered when Hooligan dismissed me taking hold again. “Nine’s a lot for someone who’s only been having sex for a year.”

  She shakes her head at me, the cross expression that’s covering her face telegraphing her displeasure with me. “Do you think I’m a slut because I’ve slept with over twenty guys?”

  “No, of course not.” I respond straightaway. “Your fiancé died, leaving you with a kid
to raise. You’re entitled to sleep with whoever you want.”

  “Then why aren’t you? Honest-to-God, it’s two-thousand and fucking sixteen. Nobody gets to comment on your number or how you dress. As long as you’re not hurting anyone else, who gives a fuck who you sleep with.”

  “True,” I concede. I’m confused about why I even care; it’s just that I can’t shake the notion that my first reaction to Hooligan meant something. I’ve never felt like that from just looking at a man before. Although, I probably pissed him off beyond repair with my little tantrum before I left.

  “All right. This is what you’re going to do,” Amy declares, a big smile on her face. With happy eyes shining brightly and a sneaky smile curling her lips, she looks ready to take on the world. “You love all this fighting stuff? Like you have a belt and you’ve competed before?”

  “Yeah, I have and I’ve always wanted to do more. I just don’t have enough time...not with Cooper and work.”

  “But that’s the thing, Gabbi. Nate told me that the fighters made serious bank. Even the ones who lose earn thousands of dollars. What if you asked Hooligan to train you to fight? Then you could concentrate on art school and Cooper without worrying about money anymore. You could cut down your hours at the gym if you were making money fighting.”

  Excitement grips me. “That’s a good idea.”

  “And you can flirt with him while he trains you. Make him see the real Gabbi. Not the party girl you pretend to be when you’re hunting for a man.”

  Screwing my nose up at her last sentence, I narrow my eyes and open my mouth to argue. Why does everyone think I’m acting?

  “I’m not—”

  “Oh, hush now,” Amy chuckles after she cuts me off. “I know you think you’re some hardcore party slut but we both know that deep down you’re just a little girl who’s angry at Daddy. You use men to make yourself feel better.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Gabbi. Listen to me. If your dad hadn’t left your family in the lurch and your mom hadn’t turned into an A-Grade gambling whore because of that, I’d bet Max’s life that you wouldn’t even give me the time of the day. You’re covered in tattoos and always looking for a fight, or a fuck, because you’re pissed at your dad. Anyone who spends longer than five minutes with you and actually pays attention can see that the exterior is just your protective armor. Babe, underneath it all you’re the poster child for upper-middle class rebellion, except for one little glaring detail.”